Adulthood
by fan-nerd
Summary: Akira had probably never cut it close on time to any match, before. The event stirs the conversation about exactly what everybody already knows is going on behind closed doors. In general, Shindou and Touya's families already sort of knew. Waya, of course, still doesn't know how to mind his own business. Akira/Hikaru.


_A/N: This came out being five times more ridiculous than I'd thought it would be, initially. Hope you'll enjoy it anyways! **Warning:** Semi-explicit guy/guy romance._

* * *

Touya Akira sweeps into the Institute; uncharacteristically close to being so late his match would've become a forfeit, to the first day of his title-defending games. His competitor, who has never been his biggest fan, has his arms crossed, leaning against the door, with the word _pissed_ practically plastered across his forehead.

"My…apologies," He huffs, and what a mess he is. His usually pristine, long hair is frayed and fluffy from the humidity, his steely-gray eyes are wild, and his suit is just barely on. His shirt is buttoned in all the wrong places, his tie is loose, and the brunette is pretty sure he has mismatched socks on. "Let us begin."

Waya starts to feel like the current _Tengen_ title-holder is going to lose this match. Really, it's a surprise he's even at this match, but he'd justly trounced Ochi for the right to challenge Touya, and Shindou had been too busy defending the _Gosei_ for the third year in a row to sign up for this title's preliminaries.

He regrets this thought after Touya lets the _pa-chi_ of the white stone in his fingertips resound firmly, his game strong from the very first move. His eyes are worse than usual, and Waya gulps.

When he finally manages to get a hold of his friend, days after his horrific loss, Shindou howls with laughter. "You should know better than to underestimate him based on the way he looks."

"He _looked_ like you'd thoroughly screwed him, and he stumbled out of your place in whatever clean clothes he could find," Waya drags at the cigarette, hating himself a little bit for letting the elders in his life influence this particular bad habit. "What the hell are you two playing at, anyways?"

"It's a game," Shindou offers with a giggle, sounding very proud of himself. "Isn't it always? Oops, incoming call for a tutoring match—catch you later!"

The pro older than him by a year scoffs on the other side of the line, feeling even angrier. _Do title winners in their mid-twenties just start going crazy?_ It makes him think of Ogata in his heyday, but the man is now the _Honinbou_ and _Kisei_ (it seems that Kurata's a huge threat to the former title, however), so eccentricity clearly doesn't matter much in this profession.

Waya hopes against all hope that he's never caught in the whirlwind of their messes.

* * *

_**Adulthood**_

* * *

Touya's livid, for good reason. _I'm going to murder Shindou._

He's only Shindou at times like this, when Touya's ready to crush his heart under his heel, if only to stop that stupid, overconfident smile that never means anything good, and keep whatever bad idea he's going to suggest from making it to his lips.

Other times, when Touya is writhing underneath him, biting his tan skin, crying out, and fisting more of his choppily blonde-black hair, he is unarguably _Hikaru._

Shaking his fist at nothing and flushing, thinking back to that particular morning, where Shindou had snuck up on him, grabbed his hips—_he __**knows**__ I'm ticklish right there, fucking __**knows**_—and licked the shell of his ear, he wants to murder him again.

Okay, not really, but he's pretty pissed. When he storms back to his parents' home after the match instead of to the apartment that is now more familiar than his childhood residence, he gets startled out of his frustrated thoughts by the quiet, calming, but strong presence of his forbearer. "Hello, father," The greeting slips from his mouth with a respectful nod, out of reflex. He hadn't expected him to be home. The head of household rarely was, not since the younger Touya had been sixteen, or roundabouts. Still, his father was no longer the sprightly sixty-something traveling around the world and playing new go, and it figured that he'd be slowing down soon.

"Your sense of attire recently was less than optimal, I've heard," Akira feels as though he is three again, ignorant as to why black had such a huge advantage over white, and then has to have the concept explained to him like he was small and knew no better. His father is right to have this tone, however; he is equally ashamed of his demeanor, and how it must've negatively reflected on his family.

"It will not happen again," In his mind, he solemnly adds, _Shindou, I'll get you back for this_, but this sentiment is none of his father's concern.

His father raises an eyebrow. "You are under the impression that I'm in a temper with you, over this," Akira controls the flush he feels rising underneath his skin, and admirably keeps a straight face long enough to nod his head sheepishly, knowing well that his father is within right to be angry with him. "Everyone cannot be expected to be perfect every day. Besides which, your go is never disappointing, no matter the state of your external affairs." Instantly assuaged to hear this, the younger Touya sighs in relief, and wonders why he'd been so desperate to leave his home, in the midst of his adolescence. Strongly suspecting it had something to do with the influence of his current roommate, he shakes his head and revels pleasantly in his father's praise.

"Still, my appearance that day was absolutely inexcusable. I feel it would be well within rights for you to reprimand me, even so." What he does not say is that it would mollify him, even, to have someone do so, since returning to the apartment meant getting involved in a scheme of retribution.

Touya Kouyo fixes him with a look. Akira, rightfully, squirms in response. "Before that, it seems we should speak."

It feels like a rock is dropped in his intestines. This feeling is less exhilarating, as that morning with his rival had been, but fills him with just as much expectant dread.

.x.

Shindou Mitsuko is doing her error best to understand her son, again, for what feels like the thousandth time in the last twelve years. He's chatting with a friend on the phone, despite his hands' placement on the controller of a video game console, about go. She cannot possibly fathom how he's capable of doing all of this, but she merely shakes her head and offers him a plate of food. His eyes, which had been sort of blank, while his calloused hands moved quickly across the buttons, turned to her with a stare that was not new, but felt older than she was, herself.

"Say, Hikaru," She starts, as he pauses the game, terminates his phone call, and begins to eat. "Is everything alright?"

He raises an eyebrow under that mop of fluffy faux-gold and black hair. "Yeah mom, s'fine. I'm home 'cause I'm hungry, notfin's wrong," Hikaru hardly pauses between bites to make his speaking sound intelligible, so she mostly translates.

It dawns on her again, as this is her thousandth reverie, that Hikaru is a very gifted boy. Then, when she shakes her head, she realizes that he has not been a boy for a very long time. He's tall—much taller than his father—and his gaze sometimes scares her. Still, despite his lofty stance in his profession, and his distant look that sometimes cross his face, his tan face and smile are still bright, if estranged. It feels like he smiles for very different reasons than he had ages ago, and except for these few and far between dinners, they are hardly connected. He'd moved out at a tender young seventeen, and she felt like she'd messed up, somewhere along the way.

"Mom," Mitsuko only realizes then that he's been speaking the whole time, and once she'd drifted off into her thoughts, he furrowed his brow and waved a hand in front of her, concerned. "Are you okay? Did something happen to dad at work? Should I come stay for the week, or something?"

"No, no, it's fine," She assures him, but her voice is shakier than she wants it to be. "You just got away from me so fast…Hikaru, I miss you." Somehow, she wishes this isn't what had come out, but now it's in the open, and the tears race down her cheeks. "I don't understand you at all, and you never tell me anything. Where did all our time go?"

In that moment, she swears he looks like her grandfather, aged instantly, despite his spry body, green eyes emotional, and tan arms getting closer, wrapping her in a vaguely unfamiliar hug. "I dunno, Mom. It's not your fault, though, I swear. I'll make it up to you." He pats her gently, and grumbles that she should stop crying, and his doing so only makes her laugh. "Hey, look, since you're so worried about me…I guess now's as good a time as any to tell you something. You have to be patient though, okay?"

"Okay," She sniffles into his broad shoulder.

.x.

Awkward.

There is probably no better way to describe the situation. After his father had coerced (read: vaguely forced) him into this, it seemed that his mother's return and cooperation led her to make tea and join them, all three Touyas gathered at a somewhat unpleasant evening tea-gathering.

No one has spoken yet. Akiko is patiently sipping and brewing her tea, still sitting formally on her cushion. His father, likewise. Their child was internally sweating bullets, and externally hoping that he wasn't hyperventilating and pressing speed-dial, knowing good and well whose voice would come across the tinny speaker if he did, and that was the _last_ thing he needed right now.

After the longest pause in the history of ever (Akira knows he is being overdramatic, but feels the situation calls for such measures), his father puts his cup down, lets his mother refill it, and then speaks to his son, maintaining steady eye contact. Akira wants to puke, a little. _Never should've come home, should've just sucked it up and gone back to the apartment—but he's at his family's home tonight, too, so that would've been a bust. Wait, no, the apartment would've just been empty—shit, hindsight in twenty-twenty._ "You must think that the both of us are either very blind or very ignorant."

He opens his mouth to protest before he's finished thinking about what he's going to say. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks, with a glimpse of humor, that Shindou is starting to rub off on him. "No, I'd never think such a thing, sir—" _Yes, grovel, that'll do the trick_, the voice in the back of his mind that sounds suspiciously familiar taunts him, and he works very hard to repress it. His father cut him off by holding up a hand.

"The two of us have been waiting very patiently for you to feel as though you could bring things from your personal life aside from go to us," Touya Kouyo continues, pausing for a moment to take in the younger man's expression. "You are an adult, Akira, and neither of us wish to presume that we have the strength to force you to share such details, but we do hope that you would trust us."

Their son falters, and spills some of the tea on his pants, hissing at the heat of it. His eyes are wide and confused. "Excuse me?"

.x.

Hikaru is sipping at his tea and looks rather self-satisfied—or, well, so she assumes, she's no good at reading his expressions.

"Excuse me?" Mitsuko ventures, once again, and her boy lets out another exasperated sigh. This isn't the first time in this teary-eyed emotional rollercoaster of night that he's done so.

"I'm going out with Touya Akira. My rival in professional go—also my roommate. He's my lover." His green eyes sort of half-narrow and feels like if he has to come up with one more _stinking title _for his life-partner, he's going to hit something. "Faithfully committed. Due for a match next Tuesday. We're having se—"

"Hikaru!" She reprimands, still sniffling.

He grins a little bit. "Alright, too awkward, I agree. But I _am_ twenty-four. You shouldn't be too surprised by that." Of course, he smartly fails to mention that they've been having rowdy intercourse for no less than seven years. He _very_ respectfully doesn't tell her that he almost made him miss his match last week by making him come all over their kitchen cabinets and then the showerhead.

"I guess I shouldn't be altogether too surprised," She admits, determined to be open-minded about this whole ordeal. "I knew that you and Akari-chan never seemed very attracted to each other, but you never said much about this Touya boy, save that you were rivals, and then it seemed that, suddenly, the two of you were moving in together."

Hikaru felt sort of sorry for the poor woman, having to deal with his fickle tendencies and avoidance of her during his adolescence. Everyone else that knew him had a private betting pool for exactly what would happen with the young lovers next. It was something of a private tradition the Institute and the Weekly's upper officials shared. Occasionally, Hikaru joined the pool himself. It was a shame his mother was one of the few people so close to him (if only by blood connection) to completely miss the very obvious relationship right under her nose. "I didn't help things. I mean, I was never scared of telling you, it just never came up."

Mitsuko stopped her nostrils flaring. _You didn't think to tell me about something so important to you? What'd you think I'd do, scream at you?_ It's a good thing she doesn't verbalize this, because she's sure he would've shut down just then from her accusation, and they would've been back at square one. "So, then…if you've been seeing each other, seriously, why haven't you brought him for dinner?"

He blinks, like she's said something incredibly intriguing. "I can?"

.x.

_Shit_, it dawns on him like he's been slammed in the sides by a train. _They're asking me about Shindou_. He's still pretty mad at him, so the last name, even internally, stays.

"If you're unwilling to speak at this juncture, we understand, Akira-san," _God bless you, mother_, he thinks, but knows that his father's gaze means he's not getting out of this one, and he can practically taste the 'but' she's about to say. "But," _I told you so, _Shindou's voice in his head says, "It is so rare that all three of us are able to convene for evening tea like this."

No matter what kind of temper he's in with his lover, he cannot help but wish Shindou were here to suffer through this with him. He'd probably laugh before jumping up and proclaiming, _"I've been screwing your son into a mattress, and he's been up my asshole just as often, for seven years!"_ The image is so vivid in his mind that he has to stop himself from giggling and going into a righteous fury at the same time.

"I understand," He coughs, to realign his composure, even though his outward appearance hasn't changed at all during their exchange; it was merely his thoughts that were racing. "Well, as things are, there is a decidedly deeper semblance to the relationship between my rival colleague, Shindou, and I." He congratulates himself on not stuttering through that messy string of words. Bowing a little, he continues. "I am ashamed to bring the topic to you so late in our affiliation, but I was more than a little unsure of how you would take the news."

"I see," His father's said this to him in thought so many times that Akira has no idea what it's supposed to mean any more. "If I may dismiss this misconception," His younger wife nods her silent consensus, so he continues. "I wish to be frank. We're worried about you. Although you were once a very talkative boy in private, you seem to have grown very cold."

Somehow, he's going to find a way to make this Shindou's fault. Still, he's flattered at their affection and acceptance, so unlike a traditional family. He'd fully expected a violent upheaval from his household, the loss of his family name via excommunication, or a forced move from his shared apartment, from the fiend that had converted their pure little angel. (When he'd once told Shindou of this fear, his lover had laughed until he had tears in his eyes, and then proceeded to dirty talk him like one of his parents in the scenario, and the humiliating experience had been more of a turn-on than he was willing to admit, and he refused to replay it, ever again.) "I care about him very much, mother, father. It is my sincerest apology that I will be unable to carry out the family name, due to this choice," He's not really that sorry about it, honestly, but he knows it's proper decorum. "I also apologize for being so private. With all of us on such conflicted travel schedules, it is difficult to find the time to speak truthfully." This, he does mean genuinely.

"Akira-san, you're always welcome to tell us anything, no matter how far we are away," His mother assures him with a warm smile, and he sends one back her way. "Suffice to say, we are always willing to listen."

"Yes," His father adds, and Akira feels as though this is all too much, and he will blush simply out of the overly positive response he's received. "As for your attire that day," _I suppose it was too much to ask to get off completely scott-free_, the youngest Touya in the room thinks. "I only offer one thought—it is important to enjoy your youth while you are young." It's Kouyo's convoluted way of saying, _go crazy, son, you deserve it_. "With that being said, I think it's about time you invited Shindou over for a match."

He wants to remind him that he'd just asked Shindou over for a match at their home last year, but he realizes, before he opens his mouth, that his father is inviting him over as his lover.

.x.

"Ah man, shit, really?" Shindou's grin is huge as he walks out of the Institute, chatting with the pro only an inch or two taller than he is, both of them at their full heights. "It's weird how stuff like that happens, because the same thing happened with my mom. She was feeling all put out because I never give her the time of day."

Akira, who had been subject to similar behavior, once, understood her pain. "I know. I just, sort of clammed up. What was I supposed to say, _honestly_. I've promised that you'll come for dinner soon, since they'll be in town for a couple of weeks."

"Yeah, same. Hey, maybe we'd better just do an all for one. Saves us time," Hikaru whispers in his ear, moving tufts of dark hair around and making the faint hue of his cheeks turn just a tone darker.

"I haven't forgiven you for the morning before the _Tengen_ title-match," They have another preliminary for the _Ouza_ coming up soon, and Touya's been thinking of exactly how to enact his revenge. Before either of them realizes, they're ducking out of sight in the middle of the city, tossing each other's bodies against bricks, rough hands in each other's thin hair, fighting for dominance. When they pull their lips apart to gasp for air, already so lustful, gray meeting green and coming to an agreement, they grin. "Race you back to the apartment?"

"I'll lose," Akira murmurs, sounding not the least bit disappointed.

"That's what I like to hear," Shindou tosses back, snickering.

.x.

The dinner is odd at first, then calm, and then Hikaru takes over, and it's anything but. Mrs. Shindou, together with the Touyas, remark on his individuality, and he takes their jokes and praise alike in stride. Akira, for one, can't wait to get him back to the bedroom. The adults chat well into the evening, leaving Hikaru coming to his lover's childhood room for possibly the tenth or eleventh time.

Akira, this time, is the one seducing him, despite all the noise just around the corner. Hikaru grins. "Ooh, rubbing off on you, am I?"

"Shut up or I'll change my mind," Not-so-goody-two-shoes Touya Akira blushes just a little bit, before he sinks his teeth into Hikaru's nape, and sets off to ride him on top, knowing his half-blonde partner likes it best this way.

"Wouldn't want that," Hikaru musters beneath a groan, painfully hard and they've barely started. He knows Touya won't make this easy for him, either, taunting this out of him as the first step of what he knows is his plotted revenge. "Have I mentioned how sexy you are when you hate me?"

Since his response is putting Hikaru's dick in his mouth, and he gets a heady moan for his reward, he figures that the sentiment is duly noted.

.x.

Shindou Hikaru has never been well known for wearing proper attire, and has conveniently 'forgotten' to wear a suit to very important matches many times. Still, it's one of the final few matches of the _Ouza_ preliminaries, and some semblance of propriety is expected of all the young pros in attendance.

He fails this expectation spectacularly, as usual. The t-shirt he sports is heavily and brightly patterned, with text reading: _Kiss The Cook_ in pink. His tie is tangled, his dress shirt doesn't _begin_ to fit, and his pants are high, as though he's preparing for a flood.

Nothing matches, and even the color of his bangs is different from usual—a somewhat obnoxious orange. When Amano approaches him for a word about his thoughts on the upcoming match, he gets a seething and unintelligible response. Still, Shindou manages to crush his opponent, for what it's worth. This time, when he asks for a few words, the young prodigy responds, coy and bitter at the same time.

"Oh, the match was fine. Very well played, especially mid-game. However, there are a couple of people that I'll be looking forward to playing in the rest of the prelims. One of them is Waya-five-_dan_—something tells me we have some _high stakes_ resting on the results of the match. The other, of course, is Touya-nine-_dan_. Let's just say, our go will be doing the talking, that day."

The following write-up article gets to the front page, and the paper sells like hotcakes. Waya, upon reading it, gulps, puts his cigarette out, and feels threatened for his life.

He wonders where he went so wrong, and knew that he shouldn't have let Touya coerce him into telling the other pro some of his friend's weaknesses, as well as how, exactly, to piss him off about his wardrobe.


End file.
